After Sylvia withdrew from me over the summer, Autumn and I talked. When my sister started to avoid me, I wanted to make sure someone looked out for her. Autumn promised she would—and she does.
Now she’s looking out for everyone. As long as Tyler is occupied, we can get students to safety.
I tap the guy next to me, Rafe, our linebacker. He flinches and curls his body to protect the girl beside him. His face is streaked with tears. When he sees it is me, he raises his eyebrows.
“Get out. Run,” I whisper.
Soon, soon we will be out of here. Tyler will forever haunt us, but he won’t be able to harm us anymore. We will remember that we escaped. A weight lifts off my shoulders as people scramble out. It gives me wings. I wish I could run through the aisles. It would make for faster work, but people in the seats are starting to notice the movement. Word that the doors are open spreads steadily through the auditorium.
I reach out for the next person. We’re so far from the doors now, we’re crawling targets. If I ever had any purpose in high school, this is it.
This is how I shape our future.
• • •
AUTUMN
“I hate you,” Ty seethes. “I wanted you to stay, but you never cared about me. You never cared about any of us. You only ever cared about dance.”
I wince. I want to contradict him, but I can’t. Dance is beauty. Dance is compassion, honesty. The only way I’ve ever known how to share my feelings is through dance.
But he digs the barrel of the gun into my ribs. “So dance. You wanted a stage. Take it.”
The last thing I want to do in the face of Ty’s hatred is dance, but with his eyes on me, the people in the auditorium can get away.
So I take up fifth position. I haven’t warmed up, and the tension in my shoulders and legs makes it almost impossible to move. Behind Ty, the faces of my impromptu audience are far clearer than they should be—full of anger and judgment. I’m beyond being afraid that people won’t understand me. This is the one thing I can do to help them.
I freeze. I don’t know which solo to choose. Not one of the classical solos Mom danced. Not anything I prepared for Juilliard. If I make it out of here, I don’t want him to have tainted those steps.
But I have nothing else.
I slide from fifth into fourth position. I brace for him to shoot me, but he doesn’t. Ty is still watching, so I let the rhythm carry me as I fall into tombé, one step, two step. My knees tremble, but the moves are familiar. My Chucks squeak on the stage’s wooden flooring.
I close my eyes and pour my memories of Ty into my dance—his worried frown when I told him I still wanted to dance. His strong arms around me when I woke up from another bad dream. His promise when he gave me my ballet charm: I believe in you.
When Mom’s sister came to visit for the holidays, she brought our cousin. Three-year-old Alex held on to Ty’s hair when he carried her around on his shoulders and clung to his hand whenever he set her down. Peals of laughter lit up our house for the first time since Mom died. Dad stopped drinking for a whole day.
I cling to those images, but they all turn dark. All that’s left is Ty’s smile. His smile when Dad threatened to break my legs once and for all so I’d stop dancing, while Ty leaned against the doorpost without a protest. The smile when he shot Nyah.
I fold into myself. I’m forever trying to get away but incapable of cutting myself loose.
And then I see her face. Sylv’s the only person who matters. Our late summer nights are the only time I’ve been happy.
My steps become brisk and bright. My movements become more brazen—until, in my mind, she turns away too, and our dance follows the familiar rhythm of the lies we’ve told each other.
My ankle twists, and the movements become harder.
Mrs. Morales is getting sicker each day. Soon she won’t be able to care for herself anymore, won’t be able to recognize her children. Tomás told me Sylv is considering staying in Opportunity because their grandfather can’t care for Mrs. Morales alone—and I never told her I supported her. Whatever she decided to do.
I never told her the idea of coming back after I’d escaped chokes me, the idea of losing her breaks my heart.
Instead, we stuck to false truths. “How are you?” “Good, I guess. Don’t worry.”
I slow. I swallow a sob. I’m not sure if I pushed her away or never had her at all. I just know I’ve never been so alone.
I look out to find Sylv in the auditorium. Then my feet are swept from under me, and I land flat on my back, staring up at the barrel of Ty’s gun.
• • •
SYLV
I tap the shoulder of the sophomore in front of me who’d been arguing with his mom on the phone when Tyler started shooting. He sits with his head in his hands, oblivious to what’s happening around him.
“The doors are open,” I whisper.
He raises his head and stares straight through me. His eyes are bright green, bordered by his black eyeliner. I can’t even remember if I’ve seen him move since Tyler started shooting. His phone still lies on the ground where he dropped it.
I snap my fingers in front of him. “Pay attention.”
His gaze focuses on me. I point first to him, then toward the door, then toward the people down the row from him. “Take as many people as you can with you, but get out.”
When he doesn’t seem to comprehend me, I sit back on my heels and recall what he said earlier. “Do you want to find CJ?”
“Find CJ?” he repeats slowly. His voice is hoarse.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Steve.”
“Sylvia. The doors are open. She’ll be out there,” I promise.
He straightens, but he doesn’t move, as if he’s forgotten how.
“Can you do me a favor?” I nearly drag him out to the aisle. I point to Asha. She sits, leaning against the wall, her arms wrapped tight around her waist. No matter how many people pass her, she does not move. “That girl over there lost her sister today. She needs to get out of here. Can you make sure she does?”
It’s a trick I learned from dealing with Mamá’s illness. Whenever she zones out, the best thing to do is give her specific tasks, small tasks—feed the dogs, collect eggs, keep an eye on the oven while the cookies we made together bake. It’s not infallible, but when she feels disoriented and overwhelmed, those tasks keep her from panicking. I hope it’ll help now. Because someone needs to get Asha out. It’s the least I can do for her. We’re all responsible for each other.
“Please, please get her out,” I say.
Steve nods.
And for the first time, I believe I can do something. I can change this. I’ve been so afraid I was losing everything, I nearly lost myself. But I’m remembering now. I’m remembering, and I’ll never forget.
The open doors give us hope, like a gulp of fresh water after a day’s drought.
While Steve makes his way to Asha, I continue to spread the word. As long as Tyler’s eyes aren’t on me, I can move freely—and he’ll regret it.
• • •
CLAIRE
Uncharacteristically, Coach wraps an arm around us both. He’s a few shades paler than he was when we left him, but he plasters on a smile. “You make me proud, kids.” He always tells us that after every race. Whether we win or lose. He tells us we’ve made him proud, and he goes on to tell us how we can do better.
Today, he just squeezes our shoulders. Behind him, Esther sits with Avery, who has her leg held high and a bandage around her ankle. They smile wanly.
“Any word yet?”
“You two were brought in by Sergeant Donovan, yes?” the deputy cuts in before Coach can answer my question. It takes me a second to realize Sergeant Donovan must be our police officer. I squint at his name tag—W. H. Lee.
Chris
nods. “Yes, sir.” He keeps his voice neutral. “She didn’t tell us much about the situation inside though.”
“Good.” The deputy walks to a van that appears to be a hastily assembled command center with computer equipment and radio control. He picks up a clipboard. “If you’ll follow me. We’ve already debriefed your coach and the others, but we have a few questions to ask the two of you.”
He leads us away from the rest of the team, and together we head to the far side of the parking lot. It’s quieter here, although this little patch of grass gives us an excellent vantage point to see the cars speeding toward Opportunity. None of them are police cars or SWAT vans. They’re sedans, pickups, sports cars, even a tractor plows down the road. The roadblock stops the vehicles, but it doesn’t stop the parents.
Opportunity gossip is just as effective as any alarm system. Not that it surprises me. Plenty of kids must have called their parents instead of the police, and in Opportunity, gossip spreads without care for family or creed. Even the staunchest enemies come together to share the latest news. On either side of the tape, the parents form an honor guard of despair.
“We can help,” I say before Deputy Lee can ask us anything. I hop from foot to foot from nerves as much as trying to keep myself warm.
Deputy Lee doesn’t respond to my offer. He glances at the clipboard instead. “We’d like to know what you saw and heard before you left the premises. How many of you were there?”
He must have heard this story from Coach, but it appears he’s under orders to double-check the facts. Or triple-check. It makes me wonder if they think we could be part of this, but I can’t even wrap my head around that. Not when Matt’s inside. Not when we just ran halfway to Opportunity.
“There are five of us, sir,” Chris says with a quick glance at me. “Coach, Esther, Avery, Claire, and me. The varsity runners. We have a track meet coming up in two weeks, and Coach wanted us prepared.”
“Did you see anyone? Hear anything?”
“Apart from the shots, no. The track is on the other side of the school. It’s secluded,” he says. “We didn’t see anyone enter or leave the building.”
“Is it common for you to miss the principal’s start-of-semester speech?”
Chris smiles. “Once track season starts, we eat, sleep, and breathe track. And considering our winning streak, Principal Trenton is always happy to give us extra training time.”
Deputy Lee glances up. “Have you been in contact with anyone inside?”
We both shake our heads, but his question makes me realize that we could. My phone’s still inside, but there will be other cell phones here I could borrow. I could call Matt. I can. I will. I have to know he’s safe.
Deputy Lee leafs through his notes and then he frowns. “Does the name Tyler Browne ring a bell?”
My stomach drops.
Jay Eyck
@JEyck32
“What did you do when you heard the gunshots?” I didn’t. IM NOT @ #OHS.
10:29 AM
Jay Eyck
@JEyck32
“Do you know what drove the shooter?” I. DON’T. KNOW. #leavemealone #please
10:29 AM
Jay Eyck
@JEyck32
IF YOUVE NOTHING HELPFUL TO SAY GTFO OF MY FEED.
10:30 AM
234 favorites 127 retweets
Chapter Fifteen
10:30–10:32 A.M.
TOMÁS
Two rows down, I see a familiar face. Jennifer, gorgeous captain of the cheer squad, sits in a seat at the end of the row. Jennifer, whom I’ve had a crush on since the day I met her. She’s tall and athletic with ebony skin and eyes the color of the night. These past four years, she’s noticed me exactly never, though I’ve tried to catch her attention.
Believe me, I tried.
Now she’s here. And safe. Euphoria tugs at my lips. Maybe it’s adrenaline, maybe it’s plain stupidity, but life makes the most sense to me if I do not have to take it seriously. And I want to make the most of every moment.
Fuck. If I’m going to be the hero today, I’ll make sure she notices it, inappropriate timing or not.
I slide on hands and knees up to her chair and tap her hand, gripping the armrest. Her lips are set in anger, not fear, and it only makes her more stunning. She nearly jumps, although she’s sensible enough to swallow any sound.
I put on my most charming smile. “Hey, want to go out? The doors are open.” She stares at me like I spoke Spanish instead of English, even though I’m pretty sure I didn’t.
“Doors,” I whisper, falling back to my script and pointing. “Get out. Take your friends.”
This time, Jennifer nods and elbows the girl next to her—another cheerleader. The news gets passed down the rest of the row, and the girls sneak up the aisle. Jennifer is the first to pass me, without even acknowledging my existence.
In the next row, students and teachers alike are alerted by the movement, and they turn too, restlessly and too loud. Their seats spring back to folding. Gesturing wildly for them to keep silent, I barely have time to feel disappointed by Jennifer. But it doesn’t mean I’m not.
I didn’t expect her to fall for me like a knight in shining armor, but I would have liked a smile or some indication that I’m helping to save her.
I head to the next row.
A manicured hand squeezes my shoulder, and I whirl around, almost colliding with Jennifer. She doesn’t smile. She’s still tight-lipped and pale. But she mouths, “Thank you.”
Then she turns and heads up the aisle and out the door with her friends. I don’t move from my crouch. My heart hammers, and it isn’t from fear or dread.
It’s because she’ll know who I am when I ask her out next time.
• • •
SYLV
At the back of the auditorium, Fareed stands near the door, ushering people out to keep the lines moving. He’s a clear target, and it doesn’t seem to bother him.
On the far side of the auditorium, those who are unharmed help the wounded walk—at least the ones who can still move. Some of Tyler’s bullets were harmless, ending up in the walls or in the ceiling. But the first few rows and the aisle by the door where he came in are filled with the injured and the dead.
I can’t even remember how many times Tyler unloaded his weapon. Rationally, I know there have been moments when he didn’t shoot, when he spoke poisonous words instead. But the echo of gunfire still rings in my ears.
Part of me wonders when Tyler will be stopped—and what will be left of us when he is. Part of me wants to follow the others out of the auditorium, to be far away and safe.
But if I turn away now, with Autumn getting to her feet in front of her brother, I’ll always be looking back. And I refuse to be afraid anymore.
So I touch shoulders and whisper while my eyes are focused on the stage.
I refuse to watch her die.
Next to me, a student stands and starts ushering people out as well, murmuring soft words. Another student follows him, and another. Between them, they help a girl who clutches her arm to her chest. They shield her as she moves toward the door.
This is who we are now—terrified and unafraid.
I keep moving down. My mind keeps cycling through memories, creating fragments of a story—my story.
Autumn’s fingers entwining with mine.
Tyler’s hands pushing me down.
The letter burning a hole in my pocket.
Tomás coming back for me after all those months I pushed him away.
No matter how this plays out, these moments are all part of me. It’s time to stop hiding.
The only two people who matter now are in front of me—the boy who broke me and the girl who put me back together. I will not let him take her away from me again.
• • •
AUTUMN
They say your life flashes in front of your eyes right before you die. As I wait for Ty to pull the trigger, no memories overtake me. No last wishes or if-onlys. I cower. My shoulders hunch; my hands tremble. When Dad was at his worst, he’d call me every name he could think of and wouldn’t stop until he felt like he’d won.
Ty is worse. His eyes are wild and unrecognizable.
He shakes his head. It’s as if we’re the only two people in the auditorium. “I thought you understood the loneliness and the loss. I thought that was why you wanted to get out—to fight back. To win. You know how much it hurt to find out about you and that—that slut? You’ve been lying to all of us.”
I smile sadly. “You can blame me for Mom’s death if you want. Believe me, there is nothing you can say that I haven’t already thought myself. But it was an accident. A terrible, terrible accident.” I raise my voice. “But me and Sylv? We’re no accident.”
Whatever happens, I want her to know that. I want her to know I loved her, I love her, and I wish I would have told her a thousand times over. I wish I’d told her how I felt before today came crashing down around us.
“She makes me feel safe—like you did once. She doesn’t judge me. And if you can’t understand that, I’m sorry. I am. But it doesn’t change how I feel about her. I love her.”
If Ty wants truths, that is the simplest truth of all. And with every word I speak, with every secret I tell, I win and another student slips out of the auditorium.
The silence that meets my words pins me to the floor; it is ice and fire and hope. I brace myself and whisper, “I loved you too.” Despite everything, I still do.
I expect him to snap after I finish my monologue. Instead he hesitates and blinks, as if awakening from a reverie. The barrel drops for a second. Maybe I got through to him after all. But Tyler’s lips curl into a snarl.
“Too little,” Ty says, “too late.”
My eyes widen and my hands tremble. And this time, there is nothing I can do when he spins around, his gun poised, and faces the thinning crowd in the auditorium.
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